In Search Of The Water [Japikoa]

[Nala]

Nala squeezed back, pleased to hear that it wasn't just her who was so exhausted from travel. The dancer was soon moving with some of her normal grace once more, following Japikoa and refusing to let go of her hand. At her wrists and ankles and ears, the bells jingled, and under her cloak, her hips undulated in a soft roll, her blue eyes glancing around occasionally at the clustered Chaktawe, smiling shyly at them. But without a doubt, most of her attention was focused on the female she was with.

She let the little ones take the mare's reins, and was about to undo the packs when the children stole off with them. Well, if Japikoa said they would look after them... well, then surely they would. The little ones seemed content to do with Japikoa had told them. Clearly, the children respected Japikoa's prowess as one of the Suli, and Nala could hardly blame them. They were too young to understand the politics at play here... which, she supposed, was slightly silly of her to say that - she was hardly more than a child herself, and a stranger to Chaktawean customs to boot.

"The Wayhali... they are the leaders, yes?" Nala made a guess. "Were you married to another one of her sons, then?" The Benshira gently stroked the inside of Japikoa's palm, investigating Japikoa's tent. If her new friend didn't mind her sharing it, Nala thought she might just drop down and sleep right then.

[Japikoa]

The woman's tent was more than big enough for both of them, staked out with four poles and nestled beneath one of the scarlet-hued keerdash trees of the grove. It was only a half-dozen tents away from the Wayhali's, which sported a large flag bearing the standard of the Tatsuwaat, an embroidered tree in the same deep red hue. "Yes, the Wayhali is the leader of the Clan," she said, pointing down to the appropriate tent before she pulled back the flap on her own and ushered her new friend inside. It was tall enough for them to stand, and full of various pillows and rugs to pad the hard ground. "My husband was the Wayhali's eldest son and the heir of his honor." Her voice was a little colder now, but no less encouraging - just as if she didn't often speak of her short marriage. Nala's bags had been deposited by the children in a corner of Japikoa's tent, and the Chaktawe woman slung her own bag off her shoulder and threw it down beside them. She released Nala's hand with a final squeeze, then went about untying the back wall of the tent and rolling it up to allow a breeze to flow in and cool them. It let in a bit more of the noise from outside, but was worth it once the oppressive heat of the previous day that had been trapped there was swept away by the cool night air. She untied her cloak and folded it in a corner where the rest of her belongings lay neatly placed, and stabbed the wooden end of her spear into the sand just outside the now-open wall. "It was my father's hope, yes? That I would be wife to the Wayhali here. He thought it fitting. I was daughter to Wayhali, and knew the ways. But he was taken, him, by a fever three weeks after we joined." Even as she spoke, she untied the red-tinged linen vest and threw it aside, leaving her in only a breastband and the short skirt split to the hips to allow her full range of movement. There, nestled beneath her breasts, was the Lacun mark signifying what she had lost. "He was a good enough man, he, but still a stranger to me," she sighed, collapsing onto a pile of pillows and reaching over to rearrange some of them so Nala could lay beside her. "His mother thinks me bad luck. I wonder sometimes, I, whether she is right," she said, a sad little smile playing across her lips.

[Nala]

Nala looked over the row of tents, trying to commit them all to memory. But she was exhausted – so she simply settled for keeping in mind which was Japikoa’s and which belonged to the Wayhali. Fortunately for her, the Wayhali had a banner signifying the tent as his. The rest she would figure out tomorrow.

She followed Japikoa inside after removing her leather boots, stepping out of them so as not to track too much sand inside. Nala’s cloak was next, then, shaken off outside the tent’s door to remove the last of it before crossing the tent floor with light steps, her tanned skin exposed by the short, tight top and the low-riding skirt, despite the patterned shawl tied around her hips. Her eyes followed every one of Japikoa’s movements, every part of her aware of every move the dark-eyed woman made in a way that electrified her nerves.

She lowered herself to her side, settling in comfortably on the arranged pillows. “They say that when they find diamonds, they bring up a lot of their bed with them, and so sometimes you don’t see them at first... just the rock surrounding it.” Nala reached to touch Japikoa’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “You’re not bad luck. You’re a diamond in the rough… and that is something that takes more than eyes to see. She is blinded by grief, the Wayhali’s wife, and she cannot see clearly,” Nala’s voice was gentle, quiet; her dark hair moving in waves framing her face. Her eyes were serious, her face solemn. “But I can see. You’re not bad luck. Don’t ever believe that for an instant.”

[Japikoa]

Fathomless eyes had been staring up at the ceiling of the tent, perhaps a little melancholy. But then, she was exhausted, and safely tucked away in her tent. And for the first time in years, she had someone with her who wished to hear her speak. It was an odd sensation. If she'd done nothing else, Nala's mere presence had served to show Japikoa just how lonely she really was. When the Benshiran girl reached out to touch her, she started a little and turned to watch her. The words she spoke were mesmerizing, all the more so because of the lull of her voice and the strange intensity of her gaze. Blue and white, that gaze, and Japikoa wasn't sure how to read them, what it meant to have them stare into hers, but she felt her stomach flutter and had to swallow carefully before she could speak. "You do not know me, you," she whispered, though it sounded more as if she were convincing herself than Nala. "You cannot guess. Maybe in a few days, you think meeting me was worse luck than wandering the desert," she said with a rusty, heartbroken laugh.

[Nala]

“I do not need to guess,” Nala smiled a little bit at her, though the heartbroken sound of Japikoa’s laugh tugged at her own heartstrings. This was a woman who needed healing. Not the sort that came from Rak’keli, but a healing of the heart. She didn’t know, and couldn’t begin to imagine, how the loss of her husband and whatever status may have come with the marriage affected her new friend. And before that, she had suffered the loss of her people and her tribe. Even she could see that the white-painted warrior stuck out almost as much as she did amongst the Tatsuwaat, with her bearing and manner and attitude.

She remembered how Japikoa had leaned into her hand before, and caressed her cheek with the heel of her thumb, letting her soft fingers travel over the skin, touching the paint by her eyes and forehead. “If it wasn’t for you,” Nala tried to keep and hold Japikoa’s gaze, “I might have died a very lonely death in the desert. You could have scoffed and sent me on my way… but you listened to me… a stranger who dreams of water. You’ve opened up your heart and home to me, and gave me a chance… and I thank you for that.” Some of her fingers were in Japikoa’s hair, stroking gently, smoothing her ebony locks. Truth be told, Nala didn’t really know what she was doing – she was doing what her water-touched heart had told her. “But I do know you. I know you're a proud, strong, fierce woman who needs a friend... and a shoulder to lean on behind a tent's doors.”

Following the water had brought her to Japikoa. She was following it now, swept up in the current, and not thinking at all of trying to get out of it for the shore. She lowered her head to rest it on her arm, still on her side, and she cupped Japikoa’s face, splaying her fingers. She just hoped she don’t tire of her in a few days and send her back to Yahebah. “I’m not very good at a lot of things,” Nala told her shyly, a faint bit of pink in her face. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she wet her lips with her tongue. “But let me try. I can learn. I swear this: I’ll do my best not to let you down.” Not ever.

[Japikoa]

Japikoa's eyes widened at the soft skim of her thumb, and for a moment it looked like she might flinch away. But she held herself still, her fascination outweighing how much this girl unnerved her with every word and every action. "I am not..." she breathed, giving a tiny shake of her head, though she stopped almost immediately as if worried that Nala might draw back her hand. When she didn't, when instead her palm settled against her cheek, she closed her eyes and swallowed again. One rose as Nala made her vow, and circled the girl's wrist. So small and fragile, but Japikoa's sensitive fingers could feel how the blood beat through her veins, could sense from this small distance how her heart quivered and sped just as her own did. The fingers on Nala's wrist, mere inches from her face, could feel the moisture evaporating from her lip, the heat rising from her cheeks as she blushed, and it twisted something inside her. Something long thought cold, something she'd buried beneath strength and will and bitterness. Her very heart unfurled within her chest, blossomed and stretched and seemed to fill every inch of her with warmth, and she caught her breath in surprise. Black eyes opened again and met Nala's, and though they were not eyes to show emotions, the twist of her face did so clearly. "If you swear this," she murmured, "I will swear to you, I. Ever shall I protect you, Nala. You need never fear your safety again." She shifted then, her hand still holding Nala's wrist, and slide her other arm beneath the girl's head, pulling her close against her. Every part of her skin that now touched the girl felt feverish, over-sensitive, as she leaned her brow against Nala's and nuzzled her nose against her cheek. She caught her own lip between her teeth, afraid to let her body do what it wanted, terrified that this was more than the poor girl had signed up for when she was caught in the middle of the sands by the tracking party. So she hesitated, breath held to see how the Benshiran would react, if she would pull away or nestle closer in her arms. Fear left a copper taste on her tongue, a fear she rarely felt on the trackless sands of the desert, but the scent of Nala's sweat left her head spinning and stole what words she might have spoken.

[Nala]

Nala smiled at Japikoa's words, well and truly touched - it was a smile that went beyond her lips, to her heart and her eyes, which brightened until they were the colour of a clear sky at midday. Her white teeth stood out from her reddish lips in the twilight of the tent, and both of them could feel her heart beating faster. It was loud enough that the Benshiran girl thought that possibly the entire tribe could hear it, pounding to a dizzying beat that would make for a frenzied dance on the sands. Dancer that she was, she could almost imagine something like that in her raindance, when she learned. She felt frissons of delight and warmth prickling at every nerve in her body; the tendrils snaking along her spine and undulating outwards, reaching the tips of her fingers, suddenly sensitized and so very, very aware of Japikoa's skin, of her breath, of the texture of her hair - soft and fine and silky. She wasn't Chaktawe, not at all, but she wondered if this was what it was like for them all the time - to feel such sensations, and more, all of the time.

It must have been wonderful.

"I know," Nala whispered, her voice husky with a wellspring of passion as she found herself cuddled into Japikoa. Enthralled as she was she didn't think about it - and found she didn't have to, either. To be so close to her... it felt natural. It felt right. Nala's hair was soft and thick and wavy, and despite the long hours of travel, Japikoa could still detect the faint scents of the sweet-smelling citrus oil Nala had had in her hair before she left. Blue eyes met black, as she searched within the endless black... and seemed pleased, elated, with what she had found there as she cuddled in closer, pressing her body against Japikoa's in silent, open invitation. One bare, strong leg reached up, free of the dark skirts, and hooked over the Chaktawe's, and the dancer pulled their bodies together. "I know."

She found that there was no reason to say anything. No reason to think about it. She just did it, going with the flow. She moved her head forward, and soft lips grazed Japikoa's. Her fingertips stroked her cheek, and she inhaled the scents that came off of Japikoa, not at all minding the white paint on her face now spreading to her own skin. It didn't bother her at all. Perhaps it would horrify others, but Nala didn't want to let go. Nothing outside of the tent existed for her right then - it didn't matter. They made made a promise to each other. A promise was a promise... and something that kept two hearts and souls intertwined.

[Japikoa]

A soft moan escaped her as Nala pulled her closer, a shiver coarsing through her at the touch of the girl's lips. If anyone had asked Japikoa why she'd saved the lone Benshiran girl from a lonely death on the sands, her answer would have had nothing to do with where she found herself now. The younger girl may have been content to simply follow wherever this led, but the Chaktawe warrior was shaken to her very core to find herself thrown into this moment. For all the heartache and devastation she'd known, she would never have thought to find solace in the arms of a daughter of Biyram. But what she might have dreamed, or predicted, or wished, none of that mattered as Nala pressed herself closer. One heartbeat, another. Then her fingers uncurled from Nala's wrist and slid up the length of her jaw - engulfing her face, tilting her up, warm mouth crashing into Nala's. Lips parted and she shivered and writhed against her as the taste of her mouth drove all sense from her mind. She shoved the girl onto her back, rolling atop of her and nestling between her soft thighs. Japikoa's mouth never left hers, never stopped its relentless claim even as her free hand caught behind Nala's knee and yanked it up so she could settle closer, grinding against her until her breath came in sharp pants and she purred her pleasure between the girl's lips. "Will you be mine, you?" she whispered, pressing against her again in another long, hard stroke. "Say only that you want me and I, I will give you everything," she moaned, body shifting once more.

[Nala]

As close as she was, Japikoa could see the remaining hints of cosmetics near Nala's eyes and on her lips, meant to emphasize and enhance her features. There wasn't a lot of it, but the understated effects worked wonders. Nala's skin was warm and dry beneath Japikoa's fingertips, free of any scars or blemishes besides a few freckles that paraded over her nose and under her eyes on her cheeks. Each movement brought a new chorus from the bells at her ears, wrists, and ankles, each of the little copper bells jingling as her weight shifted. One could imagine that she was her own accompaniment when she danced, giving life to a music that she heard in her heart and soul, and not necessarily what others heard as well. But the rhythm imparted the girl's passions. She shivered with anticipation as her kiss was returned with equal ardor.

There was no argument whatsoever from Nala as she assumed the supine position beneath the Chaktawe, letting her move her however she wished. The dark brown skirt was drawn up, bunching at her waist, exposing the snug, sand-coloured undergarments that covered her inner thighs. Despite Nala's curves, she had a wide range of flexibility that came from years of practice in movement, and her muscular legs parted for her, drawing back to give Japikoa the room she wanted, even as her thighs tightened once she seemed content with where she was. As she settled there, though, Nala seemed to stiffen, her body arching, clenching, her eyes popping open as her breath left her in a rush. The hand near Japikoa's hair nearly pulled her soft dark hair, but Nala seemed to catch herself in the act at the last moment, and settled only for pulling with a bit of insistence and urgency, letting her know without words.

As her hips ground down against the Benshira, Japikoa might have heard, although she definitely felt, another muffled bell. There was something attached to a bell inside her underwear, and it was being moved with each of Japikoa's forceful advancements. Every renewed burst of pressure had Nala's body moving against her, her arms tightening, her legs clutching and clinging. She moaned into her mouth, her tongue undulating, the pitch of her utterances rising and falling steadily with Japikoa's hips as her body stiffened and relaxed, bringing forward a surge of wetness, staining the material that covered the morsel between the teenager's thighs.

Conscious thought was almost gone. She was literally, and figuratively, a puddle. She wasn't sure how many times she had been brought to the brink and dropped off of it before Japikoa whispered to her. She had been moaning rather incoherently, her eyes enormous, her chest heaving and arching as she gasped for breath. Her arms relaxed briefly, only to stiffen again at the sudden thrust that emphasized the question. And yet, despite that, she knew what Japikoa was asking. More importantly, perhaps, she knew her answer. "Yes," there was no hesitation. "Yes. Yours," Nala promised her. There was a core of complete and utter sincerity to those words, despite the breathy dreaminess of the girl's tone. "Now. Forever."

[Japikoa]

Japikoa could not have said how long they writhed against each other, or when her fingers untangled from Nala's hair and moved to slide beneath the hem of her skirt. Long fingers gripped her bottom and pulled her closer, closer, pressing against that strange drop of metal that so seemed to set the girl afire. She watched the girl's face as she panted her answer, licking the taste of her mouth from her lips. She didn't think she'd ever get it off her tongue - not that she wanted to. No, she knew just as surely as Nala that their lives were now intertwined. As the girl murmured her vow, Japikoa slid to a shuddering halt atop her, eyes wide as she stared down into the brilliant, unnatural blue of her new lover's gaze, and thought she'd never seen anything quite as beautiful. "And so I, I shall give you everything of me," she whispered back, their bodies still and throbbing in that moment. Her own breaths came hard and fast, but her words were more sincere than any she'd spoken before. "I will be yours forever, Nala, now of the Tatsuwaat. And the gods have mercy on whatever fool thinks they can keep you from me,” she added, her voice going low and fierce. She might have moved against her again – but she froze, bottomless eyes falling to Nala’s throat. She watched in stunned fascination as what looked like molten metal blossomed and spilled down the girl's throat. It twisted, separated into shimmering gold and glimmering silver-blue, until it finally settled into a Chevas mark curling beneath her ear. She recognized the djem'ayal vine and flowers, the hardy little plant that grew around the northern oases, familiar to any Suli who'd skirted the edges of Ahnatep. The blue, though, pooled like water against the gold, and she knew that that was Nala's part. And, as she watched the touch of the goddess appear on Nala's neck, she felt a brush of warmth against her own, and knew that the same mark was appearing there as well. Her gaze rose to her lover's face - no, not that. To her spouse's beautiful, perfect face, and happiness drove the breath out of her in a soft sigh. "I am yours," she whispered. Full lips twisted in a sultry, wanting smile. Her body moved again as her hands lowered to yank at the lacings of Nala's clothing and pulling at her own as well, eager to have nothing between them any longer. When the soft-skinned girl finally lay naked before her, she stared for a moment in awe and amazement. Then calloused hands touched her partner's ankles and slid down the length of her legs until she laid her thighs open and bent herself between them. "And you are mine," she growled, and lowered her head to the slick center of her, smiling lips unerringly finding that final tinkling bell.